


Tea and Rosewood

by Ariel_Tempest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Gen, Mild Spoilers, Pre series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine afternoon of good tea and people watching takes a surprising turn in the form of Albus Dumbledore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Rosewood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2007, not sure if I put it in any public archives outside of my long defunct livejournal. And no, Slughorn is not canonically gay, but I can see it, so. Here we are.

The Rosewood Wand was what Horace Slughorn liked to think of as a “gentleman’s club”. Alright, so it catered specifically to gentlemen who liked the society of other gentlemen, but the patrons were a well to do mingling of old money and the up-and-coming that suited his tastes nicely.

They also served wonderful tea and crumpets.

On any given day it was possible to find the former Slytherin student – now gainfully, if rather boringly employed in the upper management of one of the finest Potions makers in England – settled into his favorite over-stuffed chair by the fire, sipping tea and eating crumpets and firmly ignoring the complimentary newspaper sitting on the table. Much as Horace loved news, lately he despised _the_ news because all it ever talked about was Grindelwald over on the continent making life a mess and that was simply too depressing for words. It was much more entertaining to watch the patrons – old and new – come and go, pair up, break up, and otherwise run through the daytime drama known as life. He didn’t interact much beyond the occasional greeting with an old school friend or colleague (although occasionally someone would catch his eye enough for a longer dialogue, but it rarely went anywhere). He simply watched and was content.

It was a quarter to nine, which, on a Saturday, meant that Terson and Petrick would be stopping in before too long, assuming they were speaking to each other this week. It was hard to keep track of whether this was a break up week or a make up week, but either way the patrons of the tea house were almost certainly guaranteed a good show. In the meantime Horace chose to watch Randal Brookmere attempt to chat up a bespectacled and incredibly bookish young man over by the window. For some reason that had nothing to do with his own girth it always amused him to watch the young athletic types discover that there were people out there who preferred books to bludgers and were not overly impressed by the achievements of the Quidditch field. He was so busy watching the display (which ended with Randy’s face meeting the cover of “The Complete Encyclopedia of Herbal Remedies” by Basil Brock) that he didn’t even notice someone approaching his table until a polite voice asked –

“Would you mind some company?”

With a small grunt of surprise, Horace looked up – and nearly spilt his tea. The man standing next to him was tall and thin, bespectacled as the boy now threatening to break Randy’s nose with another blow of the book, and had a face that was – recently – plastered over every newspaper in the country. He was also one of the last people Horace Slughorn ever expected to see in the Rosewood Wand. “Albus Dumbledore?”

“Good morning, Mr. Slughorn.” The other Wizard smiled pleasantly, looking for all the world like a congenial Transfiguration teacher (which he was) and not a thing like one of the greatest adversaries of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald (which he also was). “I’m sorry to have startled you. I suppose I am rather unworthy of notice when compared to some of the other patrons.” Blue eyes flicked to where a struggling Randy was being shown the door – just as Terson and Petrick showed themselves in, already well on the way toward their next break up from the sounds of it.

“Oh, I,” Horace blinked, then hastened to sweep away the unread newspaper and clear some room for the other man to have a seat. He hadn’t seen Albus Dumbledore since the other man had graduated from Hogwarts two years ahead of himself. As surprising as the sudden reunion was, damned if he was going to miss the opportunity to speak with one of the most brilliant minds of the age! “Think nothing of it, nothing at all! Here, do have a seat.” He laughed off his surprise and gestured for the other man to pull up a chair. No sooner had Dumbledore seated himself than he asked – he had to ask, really – “So, what brings you to the Rosewood Wand?”

Dumbledore looked at him mildly over the top of his glasses. “Oh, nothing much. I just thought I’d stop in for a cup of tea and to see if I could find some interesting conversation.”

“I see.” Horace blinked again. Actually, he didn’t see – either the other man was truly oblivious or he’d just dodged the question neatly and it was impossible to tell which. Clearing his throat and lowering his voice, he tried again, more directly this time. “You are aware, aren’t you, that this particular establishment caters to – well, not to put too fine a point on it – queer men?”

Albus continued to look at him, his eyes sparkling merrily and his lips twitching ever so slightly at the corners. “Oh good. I’d hate to think I’d gotten the wrong tea house.”

“Well!” The day seemed to be full of shocks. At this rate, Terson and Petrick would still be on speaking terms by the time they left. “Well, I never.”

“You seem surprised!” The other man laughed, warmly if without too much volume. “Surely you, of all people, are aware that many of our past leaders and thinkers – yes, and monsters – have preferred the company of their own sex. Your own presence here speaks volumes on the subject. Why would it surprise you that I’m the same?”

Horace felt himself flush slightly at the allusion to his habit of studying the famous, not to mention the faint insinuation that he belonged amongst them. “I don’t know, really. I suppose it’s just never the sort of thing I thought about.” In truth, he didn’t tend to think about intellectuals when he was thinking about romance. Pretty boys with vacant heads were, and he was willing to admit it if pressed, really more his type, although he certainly admired the geniuses of the world and strove to be seen with as many of them as possible.

His comment earned him a knowing look that made him flush a little bit harder.

He was given a chance to extract his foot from his mouth as the waiter came past with another cup of tea, another plate of crumpets, and a professional smile for them both. Horace returned the smile with some relief – although the man was definitely not his type, far too stringy and far too forgettable – and set about pouring his companion a nice cup. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Yes, please, one lump.”

Horace handed over the requested cup and then prepared his own, running the porcelain rim past the thick ginger-blond brush of his mustache and inhaling with deep appreciation. Certain beverages were meant for smelling as much as drinking – wine, coffee, chocolate, and tea.

From Dumbledore’s contented sigh as he inhaled the steam from his own cup, he agreed.

Feeling himself safely out of the range of embarrassment, Horace made another attempt at conversation. “This would be the first time I’ve seen you here.” It was an excuse without being an excuse, but the other man caught on and nodded.

“It’s always seemed to me that places like this existed, predominantly, for people who are seeking to be seen – either by potential partners or pre-existing ones. Therefore, I’ve not much use for them, generally speaking.”

Well, that was interesting. “So, you’re not taken then?”

“Not really.” The sparkle went out of those blue eyes and they dropped to the rim of tea cup. It was an expression Horace had seen before, although he’d never worn it himself.

“Recovering?” He kept the tone of the question light, showing his willingness to change topics if the other man requested it.

Dumbledore looked up again, his lips twisting into what tried to be a smile, his expression not quite agreeing, but acknowledging that – yes – that guess was much closer to the truth. “Not really.”

“Ah.” Horace nodded, sympathetic. Not having dated much – preferring the casual chatter of many to the pillow talk of one – had its definite advantages. Oddly, having never experienced heartbreak himself made him all the more sympathetic to those who had. He reached out and gave Dumbledore a quick pat on the shoulder. “Well, give it time. There are other fish in the sea and all of that clichéd rubbish.” His eye landed on the young man by the window that Randy had done so poorly with. “You might try that lad over there – a bit on the young side, perhaps, but he seems the intellectual type.”

That earned him a chuckle and a bit of the twinkle came back into the other man’s eye. “Young Mr. Jones? Oh yes, he is – very intellectual. He’s also going to be a seventh year come fall and is in my class.”

Horace winced slightly and grinned apology. “Perhaps not then.”

Fortunately, the other man didn’t seem offended. He settled back into his chair, apparently content to spend the entire afternoon. “So, Mr. Slughorn -”

“Please, call me Horace. You were two years ahead of me, after all.”

The older man inclined his head marginally. “Alright, but only if you call me Albus. Two years difference or not, we were still school mates.”

Horace nodded in agreement and carefully schooled his expression not to show his glee. To be on a first name basis with someone as eminent as Albus Dumbledore - well, that could hardly be considered a bad thing.

“So then, Horace,” Dumbledore picked up where he’d left off. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, much the same thing as yourself.” Horace rumbled, waving a hand around the cozy room. “Good tea, good atmosphere. It’s a good place to relax and people watch.”

“You always did seem fond of people watching.” The other man not-quite-winked at him. “Not that I can blame you. Fascinating subject, people.”

The flush was back. Who’d have thought that Albus Dumbledore – genius and head boy – had taken any notice of a junior and a Slytherin junior at that. It was too flattering. “Yes, well. That and I need some form of social stimulation. My occupation – while by no means unrespectable – doesn’t allow me as much social exercise as I might like.”

“And what occupation would that be?” The other man seemed genuinely curious, although that might just have been good acting.

“Assistant Senior manager for Pascal and Petri.” It didn’t take any effort to sound proud, because he was proud of his position and justifiably so. He started out – not quite at the bottom in ingredient preparation and cauldron washing – but considerably further down the internal ladder than he was now and, through his intelligence and sociability, had been promoted with almost record speed. He’d been with the company for – what, around thirty years? Not quite that, perhaps, but close, and it had grown tremendously in that amount of time. The only thing that stood between him and the highest position in the company outside of owner was a supervisor who refused to retire. And yet – “Very rewarding work for a good company. I enjoy it immensely.”

“And I’m sure your coworkers are very fond of having you there.” Dumbledore replied, his tone just shy of patronizing. “Still, for someone so fond of people it seems a bit – solitary.” The other man’s tone was deliberately casual and as he took another sip of tea, he seemed to be waiting for something.

Horace shrugged off both the feeling and the comment. “Yes, well. Can’t have it all I suppose. There are plenty of business meetings to attend, dinners with foreign investors and the like. Still,” he hesitated, then continued confidentially, “I have been considering a change of careers. I’ve just no idea what I’d change too, honestly.” And he laughed.

“Have you ever considered teaching?” It was an easy question, said in the same deliberate, casual tone as the other man’s previous comments. There was no pressure behind it, just a mild curiosity echoed in the blue of the other man’s gaze.

It also caught Horace completely off guard. “I – teaching? Well, no, no I can’t say that I have.”

“You might.” Dumbledore smiled and set his now empty tea cup down on the table. “It is, as you’ve said of your current job, very rewarding, but equally social. I think the opportunity to watch the next generation on its rise to greatness – and help them along that path – would be wonderfully suited for someone with your love of people watching. Also, our Potions Master is looking to retire within the next year, so we’d have an opening and I’m certain Headmaster Dippet would be quite impressed by your resume.” He winked and rose with a half bow and a tip of his hat. “Something to think on at any rate. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment I must be off to. It was delightful chatting with you.”

Without further ado, he turned and left, nodding pleasantly to the waiter as he went, leaving Horace sitting there staring after him, wondering. Had it really been a chance meeting or had Dumbledore known he would be here and sought him out specifically to offer him the job?

And in the end – did it really matter?


End file.
